


What's a War To Our Tender Hearts

by HollowMachines



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Some Emotional Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22705111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowMachines/pseuds/HollowMachines
Summary: He's not sure what he wants out of a day like today, but they manage to find meaning under the stars
Relationships: Collins/Farrier (Dunkirk)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31
Collections: Valentine's Day





	What's a War To Our Tender Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> So I usually struggle to write romantic or overly fluffy subject matter, but this idea came way late in the game for me, so here we are. This is may be one of the sappiest things I've ever written. Enjoy!
> 
> (this was submitted rather hastily so I apologise for any mistakes)

"What a fantastic way to spend today."

"Only if freezing your arse off is your idea of a good day," Farrier grumbles.

Collins hums to himself, the tremble of his reddened fingers making it increasingly difficult to hold his cigarette. He's trying hard to stave off his sour mood, but the irritation coming off Farrier is palpable, and not helping matters. 

"I used to love going hiking out in the snow back home," he says, thoughts drifting away, heart heavy with longing. "Me and my sister would spend hours rolling down the hills and waddling over the lake when it froze over. Trying to find the biggest icicles…"

"Which will surely be me, given enough time." Farrier shudders again under another nasty blast of chilly February air. 

Leaning his head on Farrier's shoulder, Collins pulls his jacket tighter around himself until the leather creaks from the strain. He keeps his knees tucked up tight in his chair as they sit huddled just outside the dispersal hut watching a few of the air crew clearing the runways, masked by the clouds of his own breath.

A light dusting of snowfall is still coming down, but the sky is clear and the wind is decent, so for some ungodly reason their Wingco has dragged the squadrons out. Something about being prepared for all conditions should the enemy attempt a winter offensive against Britain, not that it's likely.

Collins is starting to wonder if this is really more of a punishment. Perhaps someone spit in his tea this morning. 

He sighs. "Well, when he comes back down, you can complain to the CO about practising in the winter."

Finally, Farrier does something other than complain; he chuckles. 

"Right, and I'll let you choose the epitaph for my early grave."

"Aye, I've a perfect one. 'Here lies Flying Officer Thomas Farrier,'" Collins muses to himself. "'He died as he lived: complaining.'"

Farrier huffs a laugh and shrugs his shoulder hard enough to shove Collins off. "I _rarely_ complain, you hypocrite. It's just… too damn _cold_ today."

"Right, right," Collins concedes. Then, "You do know what day it is, right?"

Farrier shrugs again, nearly dislodging Collins a second time, but he hunkers back down to settle against their shared body heat. 

"It's the 14th. Valentine's Day."

This time Farrier hums, altogether disinterested. "Alright, and? You don't have a girl back home I don't know about, do you?"

Something curls in his gut, nervous yet warm. He smiles to himself, leaning just a little closer. "You know I don't."

"Well, I certainly hope not." Farrier tucks lower so his breath is a teasing heat against Collins' ear. "I'm not one for sharing."

It's the first time today something other than the weather has sent a shiver down his spine. He's sure he can feel the scrape of teeth along the shell of his ear, but he fears they'll be suspected if he moves too abruptly. Instead, Collins leans out of Farrier's tantalizing warmth long enough to compose himself, trying not to imagine exactly what else they could be doing right now to keep warm. 

A formation of Spitfires roars overhead, and Collins shrinks at the sound, somehow more violent in his cold, reddened ears. He wrings his hands between his thighs, palms rubbing together desperately to try and regain some heat.

Farrier's fingers flex where they rest on his raised knee like he wants to reach out for him, but clearly he thinks better of it with the number of prying eyes around. They can only barely explain their huddled up position as it is with the cold weather, so he frowns and pulls his hand back to his own lap. 

He says instead, "You should put your gloves on."

Collins makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat, instead cupping his hands over his mouth and breathing hot air onto his tinged fingers. It does little to quell the prickling sting of his dry and frozen skin though, so he groans like a stubborn child and acquiesces. The woollen lining is an instant relief, though he's too stubborn to admit it. 

Farrier smiles knowingly, but mercifully doesn’t say anything about it.

"What's so important about Valentine's Day, anyways?"

Collins deflates a bit at the flippant tone, head falling back to his shoulder as he curls into himself more. 

"I…. Nothing. Just a silly holiday, I suppose."

Collins himself isn’t sure what it is he expects of the day either, there's just something in his heart that had assumed they'd do... _something_. But it's not exactly as if they can go out dancing or to some quaint little eatery in town together. And these aerobatic drills have squashed any hope of sneaking off for the day, anyhow.

Perhaps he's simply listened to his sister go on about her husband too much, or overheard the lads going on about wives and sweethearts or dates with the WAAF’s. Perhaps he's just jealous of the freedom, the ease with which they can exist, even here. He wants this stupid lovers holiday to mean something special for _them_ , as well. 

“Did you have plans?” Farrier asks carefully, like a fisherman baiting a line. “Did you _want_ to have plans?”

Collins’ mouth twists, hugging himself more securely against the biting cold. “No, I guess not. What kind of plans could we make, anyways?”

It’s embarrassing to think he’s developed an overly romantic soul in the worst possible situation, at the worst possible time. 

There's a gentle nudge to his knee. "There's a war on, you know." 

Farrier's voice is sympathetic, his eyes soft enough to tell Collins he understands. Of course he understands. He can sense the disappointment coming off of Collins in waves; he's too damn perceptive to miss it. 

"Aye, it was in all the papers for a while." He tucks his chin into his flying scarf and stares out at the runway, waiting for their turn to take to the skies. “Just forget I said anything.”

He crushes down his disillusionment, a faint feeling of emptiness in his chest.

Farrier's concern shows in the furrow of his brow, but he sighs and let's Collins be for the moment. They're called to action soon after, and any words he could muster to soothe the tension in Collins demeanour is lost in the skies over England.

The day drags on, endless and frigid and leaving everyone from the ground crew to the commanders in foul moods, too exhausted to enjoy dinner or debriefs. Everyone skulks off to bed with reddened extremities and stiff muscles. 

Neither of them brings up their conversation from earlier, and with the bustle of their training Collins has almost expelled the romanticized idea entirely. There's no time to entertain his bruised ego any longer.

He catches Farrier discussing something with one of the lads in private, but he thinks nothing of it, only noting Farrier’s quiet contemplative stupor as they head back to their room in the barracks, preoccupied with some thought that's niggled it’s way into his head. He never quite settles in his bunk for the night, choosing instead to bury his nose in a book while Collins cocoons himself in his blankets, desperate to return some semblance of warmth to his body.

Later in the night, he's rather abruptly stirred from his dreams after only what feels like a few moments of peace. 

With sleep still tugging at his eyes Collins moans and rolls onto his back to confront whatever it is that’s woken him only to hit a solid mass by his knees. He blinks blearily into the darkness. A shape sits at the foot of his bed, leaning over him just a bit. In his surprise he shoots up onto his elbows, suddenly very awake.

"Farrier, for Christ's sake!" He hisses quietly, voice still slurred from sleep. "What are you doing?"

A hand pushes at his leg again; the cause of the disturbance.

"Your accent gets worse when you're tired," Farrier says into the darkness, leaning back with a telltale squeak of the bunk.

Collins considers kicking him. "Is that all you wanted to say or did you wake me up for a reason?"

"Come out with me."

"Outside?"

"Yes, outside."

With a groan Collins buries his face back in his pillow. "Farrier, it's the middle of the night. And it's _February_."

"Exactly, Valentines Day, like you said. Tough Northern blood like yours can handle a bit of cold."

" _You're_ the one who was complaining it was too cold."

"I know, but this is important. Come on."

The sigh turns into a groan in his throat. "One day I'm going to shoot you down myself."

"You're also grumpy when you're tired, I see."

"Go back to bed, Farrier."

Farrier arches his brow, barely visible in the moonlight beaming through the frosted window. "Jack, just get up. Please? Trust me."

That’s all it takes; his name whispered into the darkness with the tenderness of a lover. He’s sure his sister would laugh herself into an early grave if she knew how sappy he’d become.

Yet here he is, following Farrier’s back out towards the hangars, his Irvin jacket pulled over his sleepwear, a blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders, and his boots half undone around bare feet. He keeps his arms crossed and his exposed hands tucked into his body as they walk, following his own puffs of breath as it clouds the air. 

The sky has cleared of clouds, opening up the vast blackness to a sea of stars and a near-full moon bright enough to guide their path across tarmac and grass. The cold leaves a refreshing smell about, and the last of the snowfall creates a subtle but satisfying crunch of snow under their feet, faint wisps still blowing off the roofs of the buildings with every little breeze. The air is crisp and clean and it’s like cleansing his lungs every time Collins takes a breath. 

They sit down with their backs against the hangar, bitterly cold metal felt through their layers of clothes. With no one around Farrier has no qualms about tucking close this time, pressing together from shoulders to feet and immediately taking one of Collins’ hands between his own, a thumb rubbing slowly over his knuckles in some weak attempt to keep warm.

Collins looks between their joined hands and the tranquil look on his face, and he can almost forget the chill running through his extremities, or the occasional sniffles as his nose goes numb and red. 

“Farrier?”

Wordlessly and with blind confidence, Farrier cups a hand to his cheek and pulls him in for a kiss, and Collins doesn’t dream of protesting. There’s something refreshing about having the freedom to meet each other in this intimacy outside of closed doors. There’s a joyousness he can feel down in the vastness of his chest, lifting his heart to the heavens as a warm tongue plays along his cooling lips. He smiles despite himself as they pull apart, noses still brushing, sharing the same heavy breaths.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he says, barely above a whisper, eyes still transfixed on Farrier’s mouth. “But why are we doing this out here, instead of inside?”

Farrier pushes forward again, nothing more than a fleeting brush of their mouths before he leans back and turns his eyes to the sky. 

“You wanted to do something for Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s almost over by now. And I wasn’t really expecting-” 

“I know… And with the way things are, there's not much we can do.”

The look of genuine guilt on Farrier’s face makes something vile turn in his stomach. The last thing Collins had intended was for Farrier to take his words as admonishing _._ He doesn’t need some special day to show how they feel about each other; it’s simply a flight of fancy, spurred on by a slightly naïve heart in a difficult time.

“But,” Farrier continues, taking up Collins’ hand once more, clasping it tightly between his palms. “If I heard right, I can show you this.”

It’s not a perfectly timed admission, as they have to wait a little while longer for whatever it is Farrier is talking about. Collins almost laughs as he stares up at the night sky along with him, watching the stars; beautiful enough, sure, but hardly anything unusual.

Then he sees it; a flash of light slicing through the midnight blue and moonlight. For a moment he thinks he’s imagined it, but another shoots by out of the corner of his eye. Then another. And another. Sharp lines of white fling across the sky, seemingly falling in every direction. A latticework of threads and lights dying out as they plummet to the earth.

Farrier squeezes his hand, but Collins is too transfixed on this spectacular sight, unable to move his eyes from the hailstorm of shooting stars. 

“One of the boys was talking about taking his girl out to see this, if he could, since it happened to be tonight,” Farrier says to the non-question. “I thought… it was just about the only thing I could do.” 

He lifts Collins’ hand to his mouth and presses a feather-light kiss to his skin, eyes settled on him rather than the skies above. Like Collins’ awestruck face and the reflective shine of his eyes is a private spectacle just for him. It’s like being studied and scrutinized; Farrier has an intensity to him, even in his purest forms of adoration. 

Collins finally pries his eyes away from the stars to meet his gaze. “I hadn’t realized you were this… _sentimental_.” 

“I’m not, usually," he admits with a weak smile, just a tiny flash of teeth before it slips away again. “You deserve so much that I can’t give you.”

Collins frowns at that, his fingers tightening around Farrier’s hand. 

“Don’t start that. _This…_ ” he tilts his chin to the sky. “This is enough. More than.”

He knows though, with just those words, that this isn’t about the stars, or the date on the calendar. 

It’s always been difficult to keep Farrier out of his head with regards to them. He over thinks, over complicates, over analyses all the ways they could be caught out, all the things they can’t have, all the things they _shouldn’t be_ to each other. 

Yet he tries with the tenderest of touches, with the smallest and most meaningful of words, to make Collins understand his heart. Farrier doesn’t love easily; his openness was pried out by Collins over months of careful coaxing and expressions of affection, whether through whispered confessions or passionate nights or expert teamwork and trust in the air. 

If he fails in a way only he himself can judge, he’ll wrack himself with guilt, punish himself for daring to pursue something like this with Collins, with a man, with _anyone_. He won't accept his own humanity.

Their situation is delicate, but they are hardened by circumstance, and Collins has to try to remind Farrier not to be, once in a while.

Stars continue to shower over them, and Farrier flips their joined hands over, ghosting his lips over Collins’ palm. Then he presses another to his wrist, another over the pads of his frozen fingers, flips his hand to brush across his knuckles.

“You’re trying too hard,” Collins watches, mesmerized, his voice nearly lost in the wind and the faint rustling of barren trees. “To give me something I don’t need.”

Farrier hums against his skin. “ _Need_ , no. But it’s what I want to give you.”

“But what’s left for me to give you?” Collins asks with an air of desperation slipping into his voice. 

Something about this whole situation has left them vulnerable; raw and exposed in a way they can’t afford to be. But perhaps it needs to be done.

Farrier shakes his head, squeezing his hand again. “You don’t owe me a damn thing. I have _you_ ; I couldn’t ask for more.”

He leans in again, and Collins squeezes his eyes shut against the building pressure behind his eyes. In that same moment there’s a caress of lips on his cheek this time, then across his temple, then over his brow where his hair is swept aside by a large, cold hand.

"I'd take you out dancing, if I could," Farrier whispers against his skin. "Or maybe to the theatre. Out to the country. Or the sea. If it weren't for this war I'd take you to Paris or Cologne… anywhere, really. And we'd get ourselves a nice little hotel, a room just to ourselves, away from the rest of the world…"

"Stop it," Collins all but gasps out. "Careful with me, fly-boy. Feet on the ground or you'll get my hopes up."

Farrier breathes out a hot burst of wistful laughter, and Collins can practically feel the million-mile stare as he goes silent again. He's thinking; they both are. 

It's all fancy words and unkeepable promises, vague fantasies that suit neither of them. It's not how they are, and it's not how the world is. 

But still, the embers of normalcy and comfort they bring cannot be so woefully tossed aside. Collins is grateful even for a beautiful lie.

Before Farrier can retreat too far into himself again Collins eagerly angles his head enough to meet those persistent lips with his own, fingers catching Farrier’s lapel and pulling until they're twisted up together, nearly flush from chest to knees.

An arm slips under his blanket to hold him in close, fingers dancing over the fabric of his shirt, teasing the pale skin just beneath it. Farrier’s fingers are chilled, and goose-flesh erupts over Collins’ skin but he doesn’t pull away, instead pushing closer, desperate for the heat of his mouth, to feel the thrumming of his heart, the blood rushing in his ears. 

Finally he takes a ragged breath, moving not an inch apart with his hands still clinging to Farrier to keep him close. The meteor shower is already a far off thing in his mind.

“I love you,” Collins presses the words against his mouth, forcing Farrier to swallow them. “I love you.”

Words he doesn’t let loose often, but they need to be heard now; a real, tangible truth. Something even the war can't strip away from them.

Despite his best efforts, the cold and his overwhelmed heart get the best of him, and a tear slips down his cheek. Collins leans their heads together, gold strands of his hair flickering in the space between them. He angles his head just enough to catch the night sky in his vision again, stars still flying in a splendid array of cosmic mystery; a million wishes waiting to be made. Not that he needs them. 

“Thank you, for this.”

Farrier cups his face and wipes the water from Collins’ face with his thumb, stroking along his cheek well after it’s dried. “It’s enough?” 

His eyes are shining now. Not with doubt, but with assurance. It’s the warmest thing Collins could ask for.

“It's enough."

 _It's enough because it's you_. 

A satisfied silence falls between them as they watch the stars fall into oblivion, and it's well past Valentine's by the time they finally get back to their room, plagued by bone-deep chills. Collins spends the rest of the night muttering words of thanks against Farrier's mouth and any flash of bare skin he can find.

The next day, he manages to get his hands on some scrounged chocolates courtesy of one of the cooks, and the hearty laugh he gets from Farrier upon their sheepish presentation has him falling in love all over again. 

An embarrassingly romantic soul he may be, but if this is what it gifts him then he can’t truly hate himself for it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day to all of you <3


End file.
